Miracle in Albuquerque
by tinlizzie82
Summary: Mary and Marshall end up wrangling a very special witness during the holidays. Yup, a Christmas fic in May ... talk to my muse ... or just consider this my last present to this wonderful fandom.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, I know this is a Christmas story, and I did start writing it way back around the holidays, but the damn thing got away from me and my muse wanted to work on other stuff, and anyway, it languished on my hard drive for quite a while. Well, now the show is coming to an end and I wanted a way to commemorate the wonderful and wild ride we've had with our favorite US Marshals, so I dusted it off and (other than some editing still to be done) finished it.**

**In a strange way, I almost think that the fact that it is a Christmas story is weirdly appropriate because this is my final present to this wonderful fandom that I have enjoyed so much.**

* * *

Mary narrowed her eyes as she stared into the conference room. I f there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was to never be surprised by what sort of humanity drifted, or perhaps more aptly, was shot, stolen, bombed or kidnapped, into her care. She had seen everything from bewildered families to tattooed gangsters, slick porn kings to stuttering accountants, but she had never seen anything quite like this.

Sitting in the conference room, across the table from her partner, was a short, rotund man dressed in clothes that were highly inappropriate for Albuquerque, even in late November. His heavy, well-worn corduroys were tucked into shiny, black boots with fleece tops and held up by suspenders that creased his bright-red, flannel top. But his clothes seemed almost normal after you looked at his face. Round, smiling cheeks were framed by the thickest, _whitest_ beard she had ever seen. He looked just like …

Shaking her head, she grabbed the appropriate file off her desk and after giving it a quick once over, headed in to help Marshall. "So, Marshall, are you going to introduce me to Kris Kringle here?"

"Oh, my dear, that's a common mistake, but I don't actually go by that name," the witness told her with a smile. "That's a different person altogether."

"I should hope so," Mary said.

"Divinity has never been one of my claims," he continued, nodding sagely.

Mary gave a cynical laugh. "Well then you're one up on most of the people we see, because they're always telling us what angels they are."

"What he means is that Kris Kringle is an Americanization of the Dutch _Christkindl_ or _Christ Child,_" Marshall explained.

Mary rolled her eyes. "You would know that," she said to her partner before turning back to the witness. "Just so long as you don't expect me to call you Santa."

"Well, I have been known to answer to that."

"Which is also an American corruption of the Dutch for -" Marshall started to say before a glare from Mary silenced him.

The witness looked between them with an amused twinkle in his eye, then smiled at Mary. "My actual name is Nicholas."

"Of course it is," she said with another eye roll. "Marshall, can I see you outside for a moment."

Once they were through the door, she grabbed his arm and dragged him around a corner out of sight. "Just what exactly were you doing in there?"

"I was about to start reading him the MOU." Marshall answered innocently.

"You know what I mean, numbnuts. Our witness thinks he's Santa Claus … and you're encouraging him, for God's sake."

"Mary, he's harmless."

"He may be, but the people after him aren't. He's here because he witnessed a gang shooting in a shelter - a shelter that he was visiting as Santa, a fact the gangbangers are sure to remember. He needs to quit the Father Christmas schtick and concentrate on being just plain Nicholas Myren."

Rather than appearing cowed by her vehement words, Marshall started to chuckle.

"What?" Mary snapped.

"Either there really is a higher power at work, or our jolly friend had a hand in picking out his alias, because the original Saint Nicholas was the Bishop of Myra," he explained.

"Jesus Christ in a bathrobe."

"Nope, just … Santa." Marshall was clearly enjoying this. "Oh, calm down, Mare, I highly doubt a bunch of Jersey hoodlums will make the connection."

"Fine, the name can stay just as long as you help me convince him to stop dressing like a Scandinavian elf." Mary narrowed her eyes when Marshall didn't answer right away. "Oh dear God, don't tell me you actually _believe_ him."

"Nooo …" Marshall answered slowly. "Really, I don't," he insisted when Mary glared at him. "Discouraging him just makes me feel like Scrooge."

"A role I was made for, seeing as how I'm allergic to fairy lights and Christmas cheer," Mary said gleefully as she headed back for the conference room. "Come on, Tiny Tim, and watch a master convince Saint Nick that the ghost of Christmas is past."

Once St Nick, as Mary had taken to calling him, was settled, she promptly put him out of her mind. If nothing else, the old man seemed unlikely to be the sort of witness who would cause many problems. After all, thinking that you are Santa Claus generally indicates a lack of antisocial or criminal tendencies. Kids might be naughty but Santa undoubtedly fell into the nice portion of the population. She was more than happy to let him hang on to his delusion if it also meant he stayed out of trouble.

Besides, the rest of the criminal world appeared to have decided to celebrate the holidays by going on a crime spree and both she and Marshall were swamped with new witnesses to process and settle before the end of the year. One in particular took more than the usual amount of attention. Susan Berger, formerly known as Susanna Bergamini, was the one that bothered her the most.

The little girl, all of nine years old, had witnessed the shooting of both her parents in a mafia hit before becoming the prosecution's main witness in a trial that could bring down one of New Jersey's most powerful crime bosses. She was entering the program alone. Her father's side of the family all had mob ties and her mother's side had shown no inclination to get involved in a case that would make them a mafia target, let alone move across the country and change their name for the sake of a mere niece. The only member of the family who had held out any hope was an aunt, Sophia Bergamini, who had escaped the family business by joining a mission and absconding to the wilds of the Amazon to do charity work. Unfortunately, no one had heard from her in years, and for all anyone knew, she might not even be alive anymore.

Mary was grim when, posing as Social Services workers, they left the little girl in the care of her new foster family. "Some people should be sterilized at birth."

"Jeez, Mare, I thought the Melbournes seemed nice," Marshall replied, his purposeful obtuseness an attempt to lighten her mood.

"Not the foster family, dickhead, her real family."

"I know her dad wasn't an angel but he was trying to get out of the business for her sake. It's what got him killed. Basically, he gave his life for his kid."

"What about the rest of her lily livered clan?"

"They have families of their own. You can't blame them for not wanting to uproot them and possibly put them in danger."

"So now she's alone."

Marshall knew that this case had touched a nerve with Mary, who had abandonment issues of her own. Despite her usual facade of disdain and derision, Mary actually cared too much. It was what made her good at her job. "No, Mare, that's where you're wrong. She's not alone; she has us."

"Yeah, well, it's almost Christmas and she doesn't want us - she wants her family. And there's nothing anyone can do to fix that."

That didn't stop Mary from trying. Every spare moment she had, she searched for a charity that might have heard of Sophia Bergamini, but she had no luck. The Peace Corp, the Red Cross, evangelical mission groups, Catholic charities - the answer was always the same, none of them had anyone matching her description on their rolls.

"Damn it, the woman should have come to work for us. She's done a better disappearing act then I would have thought possible," she groused when yet another lead failed to pan out.

"Mmm, I think you're going to have to put your search to rest for a bit. We've got other problems."

"Aw jeez, what is it now? Did Paul the ex-bookie get picked up by vice again? Or no, I bet its Mikey. Our not-so-reformed biker's about due for another bar brawl. Gotta love the holidays, the desire to celebrate seems to bring out the worst in people."

Marshall shook his head and handed her the newspaper article he had just printed out. She didn't need to read more than the headline.

**Local Man Says Santa Act is the Real Deal:**

**Draws Record Numbers of Shoppers**

"No, just no. Please tell me it's not our jolly witsec elf at work. I will personally rip his beard right off his face, and I don't care if it _is_ real."

Marshall passed her the picture that accompanied the story. "It's him all right."

Mary studied the picture of Nicholas, complete with a Santa suit and surrounded by children, then blew out her breath in exasperation. "What part of inconspicuous did he not understand? I knew he was psycho but I didn't think he was stupid."

"I admit he has issues."

"I hate that word."

"What word?"

"Issues. Magazines have issues. Politics have issues. People are just fucking nuts."

"Would you prefer I said he suffers from the grandiose subtype of a highly functioning delusional disorder?"

"No, I just want you to admit our St. Nick is a whack job."

"Statements like that are what land you with coal in your stocking."

Mary snorted. "I promise you, I've found worse things in my stockings." Then she grabbed her coat and started for the door. "Are you coming numb nuts? Because right now I'm more worried about getting Santa back in custody before he decides to find some reindeer and take them for a spin. And before the gangbangers decide to steal Christmas by shooting him."

"It's a white horse."

"What?"

"The original St. Nicolas character rides a white horse. No reindeer."

"Whatever." Mary punched the down button on the elevator and then dangled her keys in front of Marshall's face. "We're gonna see what he thinks about a purple Probe.


	2. Chapter 2

When Mary and Marshall finally reached the Macy's where Nicolas was holding court, they had to push their way through hundreds of shoppers. It was easy to find the ersatz Christmas village, they just followed the densest throng of people, guided by the periodic flash of cameras as parents captured the magic moment when little Joe or Jane was placed in Santa's lap and promptly burst out crying in abject terror.

"Ever wonder how many of these Santas are actually closet pedophiles getting themselves a little thrill from the job?" Mary asked as she surveyed the crowd with a jaundiced eye.

"Does your cynicism know no bounds?"

"I'm not cynical, just realistic. And realistically, since most of these mopes don't actually believe they are Kris Kringle …" She paused her diatribe when Marshall opened his mouth to correct her, elbowing him sharply in the side before he could speak. "I know, I know. Wrong person. Not that it matters. I'm just wondering what would make a self respecting man want to spend a month in a red velour suit with little kids peeing in his lap. I can't imagine it pays well enough to compensate."

"Maybe they like making the kids happy, spreading a bit of Christmas cheer, all those intangibles that make the season special."

Mary made a sour face. "I believe in bad guys and bullets and keeping our witnesses safe. I'll leave the touchy-feely stuff to you." She turned to finish shoving her way into Santa's inner circle but pulled up short, causing Marshall to collide with her. "Shit! Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse."

Marshall immediately went on high alert, scanning the crowd for whatever threat Mary had detected. "You spot someone?"

"Yeah, I spotted someone. Look who's sitting in Santa's lap."

Marshall's gaze swiveled back around to the throne in the center of the miniature village. "Shit."

"I already said that."

"I know. I just thought it bore repeating."

There, securely ensconced in St. Nick's lap, was Susan Berger. She was deep in conversation with the old man, wearing a serious expression that was far to old for her tender years. Whatever she was asking Santa for, it didn't look like it was a pony.

When they reached the inner edge of the crowd, Mary turned back towards Marshall. "You take St. Nick and get him back to the office. I'll grab Susan and try to locate her foster parents before I head that direction too."

"Can I make a suggestion? You might try smiling so that you don't scare the poor kid."

"Given that we now have to move two witnesses before Christmas, you might be asking for too much," Mary replied, but she pasted an approximation of a grin on her face.

Marshall looked over at her and gave a dramatic shiver. "I take it back, the snarl was less frightening." Then he stepped up to the throne and smiled at Susan. "Hi, honey, remember me, Marshall Miller?"

"Of course I do. You and Mary brought me to Albuquerque and found a family to take me."

"That's right. Well, I need you to go with Mary and find the Melbournes." Marshall could have sworn he saw a guilty look cross the little girl's face when he mentioned her foster parents, but she slid off Nick's lap obediently enough and took the hand Mary reached out to her. As soon as she was gone, Marshall fixed Nick with a stern look. "You need to come with me."

"Right now? What about all these children?"

Before Marshall could insist any more strongly, a short, balding man in a rather badly fitted suit, hurried up to them. "You, there. What are you doing? You can't take Santa away now." He gestured at the now grumbling crowd. "We'll have a riot." Then he drew himself up as tall as he could and blocked Marshall's exit, doing his best to look intimidating, an effect completely ruined when he had to pause and push his glasses back up his nose.

Marshall sighed, he had hoped to do this quietly. With a quick glance around to see who was watching, Marshall reached for the edge of his jacket and discreetly moved it aside to expose his badge. He glanced down at the name tag on the man's lapel. "Mr. Shellhammer, I can and I will, so unless you want all these kids to think Santa is being arrested, I suggest you give them an excuse and then help us get out of here." Then he stepped around the smaller man and started shouldering his way through the restive crowd.

Shellhammer's mouth dropped open, making his glasses slide down his nose again. Then he hurried up to Santa's throne and turned to face the crowd, nervously twisting his hands together. "I'm sorry to disappoint all of you who have waited for so long, but Santa has … uh … he has an emergency at the North Pole and won't be available for the rest of the day." His eyes widened further when his announcement sparked a worried murmur from the children in the crowd. "It's just a small emergency, really no problem at all. It won't affect Christmas, he assured me of that and he promised to be back tomorrow. In the meantime, anyone who has missed their visit can stop by the customer service desk for a free giant candy cane. We hope we'll see you all tomorrow back here at Macy's." Then he stepped off the dais and scurried after Marshall and Nick.

He caught up with them near a side exit and tugged at Marshall's sleeve until he stopped. "When are you bringing him back?"

"I'm not."

"But you have to, our sales have skyrocketed, thanks to him. We've never had a Santa this good before."

Nick chuckled. "You've never had the real thing before."

Marshall glared at him. "Not now, Nick."

"It's okay. I know Nick is a little … unusual. I admit, we were skeptical at first when he complained that the Santa we were using was disgraceful and offered to take his place, but we had no choice."

"You certainly didn't. The bum was drunk. I couldn't have a drunk ruining my good name and frightening the children."

"Nick …" Marshall growled again.

"I'm not saying I believe him, but I can't tell you how many parents have thanked us for having a Santa who knew just what to say to their kids." Shellhammer shook his head in wonder. "Who would have thought that encouraging the children to be unselfish would actually make their parents buy even more stuff. So you see, we really need him back."

Just then a little girl ran up to Nick and tugged on the fluffy white hem of his coat. He bent down and smiled at her. "How can I help you, young lady?"

"I know you have to go, and I hope Rudolf isn't sick or anything, but I really, really need to talk to you," she blurted out.

"I think my friends here can spare me a moment if it's that important."

"It is. I wrote you a letter and asked you for a whole bunch of toys but I don't want them now. I want something else and you're the only one who can help me. See, my grandma is sick and I really need her to get better because everyone is sad and it just won't be Christmas without her. Can you make her better?"

"Well, I'll do what I can, but I'm afraid that your grandmother's health is in someone else's hands. Best I can do is put in a good word for you. Now, when it comes to Christmas I do have a suggestion. I know your grandmother can't come to your house, but why can't you bring Christmas to her? Having all of you around her might even help her feel better and it really doesn't matter where you celebrate, now does it?"

"Oh, yes. That would make her feel better and me too, I'm sure!"

"Now, I do think you still need to get some of your presents, after all, you have to have something to open when you visit your grandmother. Just wouldn't be Christmas without it."

The little girl beamed up at him. "Thank you so much, Santa. I just knew you would know what to do." Then she wrapped her arms as far around him as they would go and gave him a heartfelt hug.

He smiled down at her, the look on his face positively beatific. "That's what I'm here for, darling ... that's what I'm here for." He patted her on the back before gently pushing her towards her mother, who mouthed a silent thank you at him. Then he looked back at Marshall. "Okay, it looks like I'm ready to leave now."

All Marshall could think was that he had never felt like more of a Scrooge, a novel sensation for someone who usually loved the holidays


	3. Chapter 3

While Marshall was wrangling their errant elf, Mary hurried Susan out of the crush of shoppers. She didn't know of any direct threat to the little girl but the milling crowd was just too uncontrolled a situation for Mary to feel comfortable. She figured that the Melbournes must be somewhere nearby and they could meet up once they had a bit more space and privacy. Unfortunately, even after Mary stashed herself and the kid in a quieter corner, no one showed up to claim Susan.

After a few minutes, Mary began to get suspicious. "Susan, where are your foster parents?"

The little girl chewed her lower lip nervously. "Uh, I don't know." Mary narrowed her eyes in suspicion and Susan broke under her scrutiny. "They're at home," she said, sniffling as a tear escaped the corner of her eye.

"Then how did you get here?" Mary asked, having trouble keeping her frustration from tinging her voice.

"I took the bus." Susan's tears were falling in earnest now. "I had to. I had to come and see Santa, he's the only one who can help me. I read about him in the paper Mr. Melbourne gets every Sunday and all the kids they talked to said he must be real because he knew what they wanted without them even telling him. And one girl said he even helped get her parents to stop fighting. How could he do that if he's not Santa Claus?"

"Honey, there isn't …" But Mary couldn't just tell her that baldly, not when the kid was already so upset, so she tried again. "Nick's just a nice old man whose very good with children. He doesn't have any special powers."

"I don't believe you. He said he'd do his best to help me get my family back."

"Susan, I know you understand that your parents are dead, you testified against their killer. They can't come back. You know that."

"I know, but I have other family. Why don't they want me? What did I do? That's what I asked Santa, if he could make someone in my family want me. I told him I didn't even want to have Christmas if I couldn't have that and he said he'd do his best."

"It's not that simple and I really don't think … " She stopped when the little girl gave her a heartbroken look. "Look, we'll talk about this later. Right now, I have to call the Melbournes and take you back to headquarters while we sort this whole mess out."

Mary made it back to the Sunshine building first. She stashed Susan in one of the conference rooms with some paper and a bunch of highlighters, then laid in wait for Marshall and Nick. As soon as they walked through the door she pounced.

"Are you out of your ever loving mind? Oh wait, you think you're Santa Claus, so I guess that question is moot. Inconspicuous. That's all we ask, that you _try_ to be inconspicuous and nowhere does that include having your picture in the paper while dressed in bright red velour and surrounded by elves."

"It's my job," Nick protested.

"Well, get another one."

"It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. For the past fifty years or so I've been getting more and more worried about Christmas. Seems we're all so busy trying to beat the other fellow in making things go faster and look shinier and cost less that Christmas and I are sort of getting lost in the shuffle. How could I pass up the chance to bring the real meaning of the season to so many children."

"He has a point, Mare."

"Jeez, Marshall, don't tell me you're agreeing with him."

Marshall shrugged. "No, just saying I understand where he's coming from."

Nick smiled at him gratefully. "I can't change who I am," he told Mary.

"Fine, but you're not St. Nick, because there is no Santa Claus. It's just a fairy tale."

Nick gave her an enigmatic smile. "How do you know? After all, Santa is more than just a person and Christmas isn't just a day … it's a state of mind."

"Shoot me now," Mary muttered under her breath. "Look, this has got to stop, and while you're at it, I need you to talk to Susan and explain to her that you're not really Santa."

"Mare, the poor kid already lost most of her childhood when that hit man took out her parents, why would you want to take this from her too. What's the harm in letting her believe?" Marshall asked, surprised at Mary's vehemence.

"But there is harm. We tell her that she can't be with any of her family and a very convincing old man with a real beard comes along and says he'll try to help. What is she going to think? Who is she going to believe? She can't go on thinking life is a fairytale and that at any moment her father is going to appear and take her away from all this. Life is about reality and the reality is that it's not going to happen. What do we tell her then?"

When Mary finally paused for breath, Marshall gave her a concerned look. "Are we talking about Susan, or are we talking about you?" he asked softly.

Mary just stared at him for several moments before making an indecipherable, but clearly rude noise and stomping off.

Marshall shook his head. "That did not go well."

"I could speak to the little girl. It might help the situation a bit."

"You're going to tell her you're not Santa Claus?" Marshall was amazed, and strangely disappointed.

"I'm going to do what I always do, tell her the truth."

"Hello again, Susan," Nick said as he walked into the room and took a seat next to her. "What are you drawing?"

Rather than answer, she held up the sheet of paper she had been working on. There was a picture of a house, colored in garish, highlighter green and complete with brilliant, blue shutters. A neon yellow sun shone overhead. But the parts with the most detail were the figures. A little girl with blonde hair, whose clothes approximated the ones that Susan was wearing, stood hand in hand with two taller figures. Every finger and curl of hair had been drawn to the best of the child's ability but the tall figures had no faces. It might have been a frightening scene, except Susan had drawn herself with a smile that, quite literally, stretched from ear to ear.

"Very nice," Nick told her as he admired the drawing. "I can see this is you, but who else is in the picture?"

"You already know," Susan said solemnly. "I talked to you about it at the store. That's my family, the one you're going to find for me. I couldn't do their faces because I don't know who they are yet."

"Yes, yes … I remember." Nick put a very serious expression on his face. "You do know that not every child can get their wish for Christmas. Sometimes they wish for things that wouldn't be good for them. Like a rocket ship, or a locomotive …"

"Or things that don't actually exist," Marshall contributed helpfully.

Nick gave a soft chuckle. "I hope you realize, Marshall, I did the best I could with that whole light saber thing."

Marshall's mouth dropped open. _How could he know? _Marshall thought to himself. _It must be a guess - I'm the right age, a bit of a geek … just a good guess is all._ He shook his head and turned his attention back to the conversation at the table.

Susan wrinkled her forehead as she thought about what Nick had told her. "But a real family _would_ be good for me. And they _do_ exist … somewhere. So if you're really Santa Claus, you'll get them for me." She looked up at Nick with tears pooling in the corners of her hazel eyes. "And if you can't … well, then I guess you're just a nice old man with a white beard, just like Mary said."

"I can see why you'd think that, Susan, but there's one other thing you need to understand. Your wish - it involves people. Now I'm real reliable when it comes to things, but people … that's a whole different problem. The best I can do is try to give them an idea, a little vision, if you will, and then let them take it from there."

"It wouldn't be fair to make someone do something they didn't want," Marshall added.

"Exactly. Lots of people wish for things like this and just because they don't get them right away doesn't mean they should stop believing." Nick turned to give Marshall a significant glance. "Marshall here, he knows exactly what I mean."

_Mary. He's talking about_ _me and Mary._ The realization flooded through him, rendering him speechless for a moment, until he realized that both Susan and Nick were staring at him, waiting for a response. "Yes," he stammered. "Yes, I do know. Can't say that I always like it, but that's how it is."

"Do you think it will work this time?" Susan asked.

"I can't really say, but the important thing is that you believe. That's the best way you can help me."

Nick was interrupted by a sharp knocking on the conference room window. They all looked up to see Mary scowling through the glass. When she caught their eyes, she beckoned abruptly, hooking her thumb backwards to indicate that she wanted Marshall and Nick to come out.

"I'm glad we had this little talk," Nick said as he rose from the table. "I hope it helped." Then he followed Marshall towards the door. "Just remember, no matter what happens, the most important thing is to believe."

Marshall had the sneaking suspicion that Nick was actually talking to him


End file.
